Die Young
by BlueStrawberryIII
Summary: Dean Winchester is the son of the leader of an underground vigilante group. Castiel Novak is an employee of the most powerful company on the East Coast. When the two meet, a series of events begin that will entrench their city in anarchy. TW: Death and graphic depictions of violence in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"...and in the downtown area, a rash of fires has burned down three of the five houses on North Poplar Street. Officials are remaining tight-lipped for now, but an unnamed source has confided that the fires may have been purposefully set. Locals suspect a long-dormant group called the Arsons, responsible for the buring of over twenty houses and a subsequent shooting in the uptown area nearly twenty-two years ago, resulting in fifteen civilian deaths and the imprisonment of their leader.

In other news, the city council..." The television blared out into the silence of the Roadhouse until one of the patrons grabbed the remote from the bar and turned it off.

"Do you think it's really them?" a scraggly looking man asked, sipping on his beer.

"Well," replied another, tall and sturdy, "They have been growing in numbers lately. I remember just yesterday seeing a group of eight or nine of them skulking around the abandoned factory near the border. Yellow headbands and all."

A collective murmur rose from the tightly huddled group, five of them crowding around the same table: "Eight? They usually come in twos!", "I heard they have a new leader...", "What do you think they're planning?". Above the chattering rose the tall man's voice, silencing the rest.

"Winchester!" he called to one of the bartenders. "You think your old man would be up for looking into this with me?"

The young man looked up at the sound of his name. "'course," he said, taking a sip of beer. "Anything to get back at those sons of bitches."

* * *

**(I seem to do this a lot on my first chapters, but I'm sorry this is so short)**


	2. Chapter 2

A couple days after the news report had aired, Dean was still waiting for his father to come back from his trip, or at least answer one of Dean's calls. Was it really that hard to pick up your phone and listen to a couple messages from your son? And would it even be a burden if those calls (from your son) contained an invitation to hunt for the people who killed your wife? Dean didn't think so.

He sighed, looking at the clock on the side of the wall. It was still a while before Jo came in to take morning shift. The bar had cleared out long ago, the last couple stragglers leaving around two in the morning so that they could get to work in the morning. Dean was actually impressed with how responsible this particular bar's occupants tended to be, though it did make for a pretty boring night for him.

His eyes were already closed, and his head was getting dangerously close to the counter when the door banged open. Dean started at the unexpected noise, suddenly not at all tired. He shot up and glanced to the clock once more-four in the morning; were they kidding?-and then down to the door. Two men, one short, one taller, were making their way to the bartender's counter. The short one had adopted a sort of staggering swagger, while the taller one followed behind, looking like he wanted to melt into the slightly creaking floorboards. Shorty plopped himself onto one of the stools in front of Dean. "'ne Ir'sh Car B'm." He slurred his words together so badly that Dean was amazed he was even able to keep himself on the chair. The taller man slid down into the chair next to Shorty, wrapping his trenchcoat around himself and trying to be invisible.

"Hey!" Dean said to Trenchcoat. "How long's he been drinking?" He gestured to Shorty with his thumb while gathering the ingredients for the Car Bomb with the other hand.

"We started at a bar a block from work," Trenchcoat responded slowly, his voice surprisingly deep, "It was around eight when we started. Ever since then, we've been hopping from bar to bar..." The man had bags under his eyes, and Dean could tell from his slouched posture that he was exhausted.

Dean finished the drink and put it in front of Shorty, who immediately began to gulp it down. "You've been hauling around this guy's drunken ass for nine hours? Why don't you get some rest?" he said to Trenchcoat, waving his hand to one of the couches hidden off to the side of the room. "I'll make sure your friend is okay."

"I'm not sure that's..."

"It'll be fiiiiiiine, C'ssie." Shorty broke in, shooing him away lazily.

"What about tomorrow? We can't be late, or Zachariah will-"

"I can wake you up once my shift ends." Dean offered. His eyes flicked up to the clock again. "You'd only have an hour, but it's better than nothing."

Trenchcoat looked from Shorty to Dean hesitantly, but finally gave in. He stood up and held out his hand. "Thank you..."

"Dean." He supplied, taking the offered hand and shaking it. "And you're welcome."

Trenchcoat turned and shuffled quietly to one of the couches Dean had gestured to and flopped down. Two seconds later, the man was out. His friend sat on the stool, giggling and holding out his glass, trying for another drink. Dean grabbed the glass and replaced it with a smaller one, filled halfway with some more of the Car Bomb mix. Shorty frowned slightly at the smaller ration, but kept on giggling until Dean felt obligated to ask, "What's the deal?"

"Cassie doesn't r'm'ber... We don' have th' car!" He burst into another fit of giggles, and the drink sloshed onto the counter.

"What, are you serious?" Dean exclaimed, looking over to the couch where he could see Trenchcoat's body curled up, sides moving sedately up and down with each breath. "How're you guys gonna get to work?"

Shorty looked to be thinking very hard about this, eyes drooping with effort and brows scrunching together comically. After a while, he decided: "Not a clue!" and leaned back on the stool, chortling as he almost fell headfirst onto the floor.

"Alright, buddy," Dean watched as Shorty continued to draw in huge heaves of air to fuel his huge guffaws, "Time to get you some rest." He took the glass from the drunken man's hand and moved around the counter to lead him to one of the other couches. The heaves of laughter slowly dwindled once he was lying on his side, finally mellowing out to giggles, and then nothing at all. He, just like his friend, was soon out like a light, snoring loudly.

Dean wandered back behind the bar, wondering what he was going to do with these two.

* * *

**I'm discovering that it may take some time to build up the momentum I need to start killing people... So until then, enjoy this partially meaningless fluff I guess?**


	3. Chapter 3

Jo opened the door to her mom's bar, not at all surprised to see Dean asleep at his post. She usually found him like this: body splayed out in some random place, like he had suddenly decided to pass out in the middle of cleaning. What she hadn't expected to find, however, were two other guys sleeping on the couches.

"Dean," she said, moving over to the counter and shaking him gently, "Dude, wake up."

"Nnnnn"

"Dean, it's five in the morning; you can go now."

He buried his head further into his arms and groaned some more.

"By the way, what're these guys doing here?"

This at least got some response. Dean lifted his head slowly and looked over at the couches with glazed eyes. "Don't know..." he said slowly, though Jo could tell that his gears were turning even as he said it. Then, he blinked, frowning. "I was supposed to wake them up..."

"What?" Jo asked, watching as Dean slowly rose from his stool and shuffled to the couches.

"Long story." He started shaking the dark-haired one. "Hey, man, wake up. You gotta get to work, like, now." Jo figured she might as well help and moved over to the short one to try and wake him as well. As soon as she got close enough, though, she recoiled in distaste. "Aw, man, this guy reeks!"

"He was drinking all night. He'll probably smell like that for a week." Dean had finally managed to haul his guy off the couch, though they were both still bleary-eyed and slightly leaning on each other for support. "I'll get some water." He began the trek to the sink, but the other man cut in.

"It's okay. I can carry him."

Jo frowned. "You sure? He looks kinda heavy."

But he already had his snoring friend's body on its feet, his hand guiding the floppy arm around his shoulders.

"I guess you've got it." Dean admitted. He fished his car keys out of his pocket. "Come on, let's get you guys to work." He led the way to the door, but halfway there, he realized that Trenchcoat wasn't following him. "Dude, what's up?"

"We don't have our car."

"That's why I'm driving you." Dean replied, holding up the keys and jingling them. Trenchcoat paused for a bit, then shrugged, following Dean out the door.

XXXX

Once they had all piled into the car, Shorty in back, Trenchcoat sitting shotgun, Dean turned on the car and began to pull out of the parking space. "Alright. Where d'you guys work?" he asked, pulling onto the road that led to the heart of the city.

"Novak Industries."

"No way! You're joking, right?"

Trenchcoat looked at him, confusion tugging at the corners of his expression. "No. Why would I be joking?"

"I dunno. I guess I just didn't take you guys for big drinkers, that's all."

The corners of his mouth were starting to turn downwards. "What gave you that impression?"

"Well, you guys are all related, right? Like, you can't get in unless you're family." He looked over to the shotgun seat and saw the man nod. "And the advertisements make it pretty clear the company has a huge religious background..." Again, he looked over for comfirmation. "And so I guess I kind of figured, since you're all pretty religious and you're all a family, none of you would drink that much." His face was flushing now, pretty sure that somewhere along the way he'd said something wrong. But, to his surprise, he heard laughing coming from his right.

"That's all very true. But Gabriel," he gestured to the man in the backseat, "Is a bit different, I guess. He doesn't always show the best judgement-which is why I was supervising him last night. I, myself, have never touched a drink."

Dean nodded, looking back at the road as the car fell awkwardly silent. It stayed that way until they pulled into Novak Corporation's spatious parking lot. The two men got out of the car, then looked at the still-dozing Gabriel in the backseat. "What do we do?" he asked, looking to Dean. Looking around, Dean found a lukewarm bottle of water, which he proceeded to pour onto Gabriel's face (careful not to get any of it on the leather seats). When that didn't work, Dean stood back, scratching the back of his head.

"We could carry him..." he suggested. "He looks light enough."

The man in the trenchcoat nodded, and together they hoisted Gabriel up between them and slowly made their way to the front doors.

"So," Dean grunted, shifitng the weight of his burden slightly, "Why is it so important that we get him to work? Can't he take a sick day or something? He's seeming pretty sick to me."

A shake of the head answered the question. "Usually, Gabriel likes to take his sick days all in one go. I believe he spent this year's on a trip to Las Vegas." He shook his head again, though this time it was in obvious disapproval.

Personally, Dean thought a week or so in Vegas was a perfectly good use of sick days, but he didn't mention it.

The duo made their way to the reception desk, Gabriel still a dead weight between them. "Good morning, Mr. Novak!" said the woman behind the desk brightly.

"Good morning, Anna." he replied, slightly nodding to her. He then turned to Dean. "I can take him from here. Thank you, Dean."

"Any time." He slid out from under Gabriel's arm and began walking towards the doors. Halfway there he stopped. "By the way," he called back, causing the other man's head to turn, "I never caught your name."

A small smile touched the brunette's lips. "My name is Castiel Novak. It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean."

* * *

**(I think a plot might start forming soon. Sorry the intro is going so slow -.-;)**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean walked back to his car, feeling a bit more alive than he usually did in the mornings. He still felt like he had leaden weights attached to his limbs, but this time they were lighter. There was almost a spring in Dean's step as he approached the car door, but it faded as quickly as it had come. In the corner of the parking lot, a group of maybe five people were lounging on the asphalt They were all wearing yellow scarves: the two girls had it tied around their necks, two boys wore it as a headband, and the last had it wrapped around his forearm. They paid no attention to Dean, but he almost ran into the Impala's mirrors trying to get a look at them. He had heard the patrons at the Roadhouse talking about bigger groups, but seeing five of them together was still surprising to Dean; he had been only five when their heyday came to an end, and so he'd only heard stories of the packs they had traveled in. He himself had never seen more than three together.

As he slid into the driver's seat, Dean wondered what they would want at Novak Industries. It wasn't like anyone there would help them. Pulling out of the lot and into the busy street, however, he decided he didn't really care.

* * *

**Sorry this chapter is short... It just didn't fit in the last chapter or the next one, so it got its own I guess?**

**(TBH I don't even remember why I wanted it there when I wrote it but right now it's past midnight and I'm tired so I'll just go with it.)**


	5. Chapter 5

The next night, Dean was working at the Roadhouse as usual. Sam was sitting at the bar on one of his rare nights off-it wasn't even a real night off. One of his teachers had decided to bail at the last minute, leaving Sam with nothing nerdy to do-and talking about something Dean would like to call "chick stuff".

"Seriously though, Sam," he interjected into a disgustingly poetic strain of adoration, "How can you even call yourself a man? What dude can talk about just one girl for an entire hour?"

"It's a gift." His brother responded dryly, before launching into another explanation of why this Jessica girl was so amazing, and why Dean would like her, and why her smile lit up the room, and other sappy crap. By the time Dean saw the door open, he wasn't even remotely listening to a word Sam was saying. The small ring of the bell was heard through the clamor of the evening's customers, and Dean stood up straighter to welcome the newcomers. At first he couldn't see their shapes very well, the lighting and clumps of people obscured any recognizable features. But then one of the men pushed through the crowd and plopped himself onto the seat next to Sam and everything fit into place.

He grinned, gratefully taking the opportunity to officially ignore Sam's gut-wrenching throes of romantic agony. "Hey. Gabriel, right?"

"That's right, Dean-o," he responded, while Castiel silently took the seat next to Gabriel, "Cassie here insisted that I thank you for the ride to work. So," he stuck out his hand, "Thanks for the ride to work."

Dean took the hand as Castiel spoke up. "We very much appreciate it, Dean. If you would like us to pay for the gas or-"

Gabriel's hand disconnected from Dean's and shot up to lightly jab Castiel in the ribs. "It's fine," Dean said quickly. "I was just helping you out. No reward needed."

"That's great," Gabriel responded quickly, before Castiel could protest. "So. How about one of those Irish Car Bombs? I remember they were pretty good."

"Gabriel-"

"It's cool, little baby cousin dear." He patted Castiel's head, and Dean could see the man's eyes narrow in annoyance. "It's not like I'm gonna get blind drunk like last time."

Castiel looked away and fell silent as Gabriel struck up a conversation with Sam and Dean made the drink. He seemed to have checked out of reality, staring off into nowhere, all expression wiped from his face.

"Cas." Dean said after watching him for a bit, breaking the man out of his trance. "What's up? You kind of left us there for a while. You okay?"

Instead of answering, he replied, "Cas?"

"Oh. Sorry. It just kind of came out like that. I meant Castiel." He grinned, wishing he could sink into the floorboards.

The small smile crept onto Castiel's face. "No, it's alright. I like it."

Dean's stomach swept back into place and his smile turned into an easier, more relaxed one. "Well," he filled a glass with some water and set it down in front of him. "What's on your mind?"

Castiel sighed, took a sip of the water, and began.

XXXX

Hours later, Dean's mind was filled up to the brim with more drama than he ever thought an office environment could have. With each passing sentence, some of the tension seemed to ease out of Cas. He talked about small annoyances like the man in the cubicle to his left and his obsession with those stuffed animals that sang the most annoying tunes, to the bigger things like the extra work his boss was piling onto him because he was "such a good worker" that "always gets the job done".

"Most of the time I think that Zachariah just likes seeing people miserable." Cas concluded, his long, meandering rant seemingly at an end.

"Wow," was all Dean could say, watching as the last of the patrons left for the night, leaving only him, Sam, Cas, and Gabriel.

"I'm sorry... I must've bored you." Cas looked apologetic, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched forward.

Dean playfully clapped a hand onto Cas' shoulder. "Definitely not. I learned more about offices tonight than I probably will for the rest of my life." Cas began to smile again, and Dean decided it was a really nice smile. "Tell you what," he said. "It's closing time now, but next time you and Short Stuff over there-"

"Hey!" Gabriel interjected before going back to Sam

"-decide to drop by, drinks are on the house. Deal?"

Cas stood up, still smiling. "Deal. Come on, Gabriel. The bar's closing." He lead Gabriel out of the Roadhouse, the short man walking backwards and mouthing to Sam to "Call me".

Once they were out the door, Dean looked back at his brother's face. "Dude, tell me your new boyfriend wasn't serious."

"What, Gabe? He's not my boyfriend. And he didn't even give me his number."

"Oh, so you two are on a nickname basis, now? Sammy, that's sweet."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. How'd it go with 'Cas'?" He emphasized the nickname, smirking as Dean frowned.

"It was fine. He's a cool guy."

"I'm sure he is," Sam said, annoying smirk still in place as he picked up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, "I'll see you back at the apartment." He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. Halfway to the door, he stopped and pulled something out. It was a small strip of paper, and Dean could just make out a series of numbers.

"I guess I will call him." Sam remarked, walking out to his waiting car.

* * *

**Okay guys I'm beginning to run into a bit of trouble with writing this fic, so any suggestions or comments or anything are more welcome than ever before and I would really appreciate them :U**


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